“No, baby.” Julian’s smile broadens. “I didn’t have anything to do with this, I promise. You have a genuine talent, and your instructor knows it.”

I believe him, if only because Monsieur Bernard has been raving about my paintings in recent weeks. The darkness and complexity that he saw in my art early on is even more visible now. Painting is one of the ways I’ve been dealing with my nightmares and panic attacks. Sexual pain is another—but that’s a whole other matter.

Not wanting to dwell on my fucked-up mental state, I jump off Julian’s lap. “I’m going to tell my parents,” I say brightly as I head for the door. “They’ll be very excited.”

“I’m sure they will be.” And giving me one last smile, he turns his attention back to his computer screen.

My video chat with my parents takes close to an hour. As always, I have to spend a solid twenty minutes assuring my mom that I’m safe, that I’m still at the estate in Colombia, and that no one is coming after us. After I disappeared from the Chicago Ridge Mall, my parents have become convinced that Julian’s enemies are everywhere, ready to strike at a moment’s notice. If I don’t call or email my parents daily nowadays, they go into complete panic mode.

Not that they think I’m safe with Julian, of course. In their minds, he’s no different than the terrorists who kidnapped me. In fact, I think my dad believes Julian is worse—given that my husband stole me away not once, but twice.

“A gallery in Paris? Why, that’s wonderful, honey!” my mom exclaims when I finally get around to sharing my news with her. “We’re so happy for you!”

“Are you still focusing on your classes?” my dad asks, frowning. He’s less enthusiastic about my painting. I think he’s afraid I will abandon all thoughts of college and become a starving artist—a fear that’s beyond illogical, given the circumstances. If there’s one thing I don’t need to worry about these days, it’s money. Julian recently told me that he set up a trust fund in my name and also named me as the sole beneficiary in his will. This way, if anything happens to him, I’ll still be taken care of—by which he means I’ll have enough money to run a small country.

“Yes, Dad,” I say patiently. “Don’t worry—I’m still focusing on school. I told you, I’m just taking a lighter load this quarter. I’ll make up for it by taking a couple of classes in the summer.”

The lighter load is something Julian insisted on when we returned, and despite my initial objections, I’m glad he did. For some reason, everything feels harder this quarter. My papers take me forever to write, and studying for exams is exhausting. Even with the lighter load, I’ve been feeling overwhelmed, but that’s not something I want to tell my parents. It’s bad enough that Julian is worried.

So worried, in fact, that he brought a shrink to the estate for me.